It was a year ago that my husband and I were eagerly searching for the perfect gifts to announce our pregnancy with our families. With goodies in tow, we made our trek to Wisconsin from North Carolina, a trip we had done each year since moving away.
It was only a few weeks later that we realized we’d be experiencing this adventure secluded from our friends and family. At the onset of the pandemic, we were hopeful of its quick passing. We both worried about the potential effects to our baby if I were to contract the virus, so we stayed home. We masked up. We waited.
At that time there was little known about the passing of the virus. So we stayed abreast of all new information, doing anything we could to be part of the solution. We had experienced an early miscarriage nearly half a year prior, so it was an easy decision to limit any potentially dangerous factors this time around.
I would spend the next few months going to Dr. appointments, by myself. Having ultrasounds, by myself. Googling worst case scenarios, by myself.
As the virus raged on, we made the decision to cancel plans for a Baby Shower in Wisconsin. Opting instead for a virtual party where everyone could still attend, sort of. I was trying to stay positive with all of the changes, but it was hard with so many unknowns.
One of my biggest fears was contracting covid prior to delivering my baby, and having to isolate for 14 days away from her. I shared this fear with my employer, with my family, and with my friends. I felt like saying it out loud would keep me safer somehow.
It was roughly one month before my due date that I was officially laid off from work. The business was not doing well, as it relied on membership and active participation. I remember talking with my boss at the time, and assuring her that I’d be ok. That this time off before the baby would be good for me. And then after the birth, I would have so much more time to dedicate to recovery and being a new mom. She was devastated to have to make these tough decisions for her business, but we both understood why it needed to happen.
“We felt so prepared.“
I spent the next month getting everything I could think of ready for the baby. People would ask if we needed anything else for the nursery, and I couldn’t think of anything we needed, because we felt so prepared.
The one thing that loomed over, was still the fear of contracting covid before delivery. Then as the State expanded restrictions, a new fear began to take root. Hospital was not allowing any visits for expecting mothers prior to delivery, and they were limiting visitors and birthing partner access during and after delivery.
We were told that we could have one person in the delivery room, which didn’t affect our plans, as we lived so far from family. But they cautioned us that protocols could change at any time. It was around then that I was reading stories online of women who had to deliver alone, because they weren’t allowed a support person, or their support person had tested positive for the virus.
“The anxiety was growing as the days counted down.”
My anxiety was growing as the days counted down. Finally the day was here. I’d spent the entire night prior, trying anything to soothe the contractions ,and get just a little rest. After about an hour of sleep, I woke in a puddle. Fearful I’d wet the bed, I soon realized my water had broken. We were off to the hospital within a matter of 10 minutes, and admitted to a triage room, where we waited for the results of our covid tests.
The hospital was completely full, and I had to wait in the triage room for over 6 hours until a bed opened in the Labor & Delivery ward. Our negative results returned, clearing us to move to the new area.
I was determined to wait for an epidural until I was sure I needed it. I wanted the freedom to walk around, and be mobile for as long as possible. But I have to say. It couldn’t have been more than an hour before I agreed to get the meds. Along with the epidural, came the pitocin. And from there, we waited.
I took a brief nap as the pain subsided, but not enough to wash away the exhaustion from the prior night of laboring. The next few hours consisted of checking for dilation, managing my pain and discussing what labor would look like.
Finally around 2:30am I was allowed to start pushing. And man did I push. The nurses were getting excited, telling my husband he could see the baby’s full head of hair. After several more pushes without any further progress, the Dr. came in, getting the full update. She too tried to have me push, bearing down with all my might, but the baby wasn’t budging. They had me change positions with each new push, trying everything they could think of to coax the baby out.
I remember one of the nurses saying to another, “Why isn’t she coming out?”
“She touched my shoulder softly, and in almost a sad voice said…”
Nearly 2 hours later, completely exhausted, wondering when this was going to be over, the Dr. rolled her chair up toward my torso, leaning close my face. She touched my shoulder softly and with almost a sad voice said, “The baby is having a hard time regulating her heart rate, and I think we may need to discuss a C-section.”
Being in isolation for so many months prior, I had become familiar with C-sections via google searches and instagram posts. The Dr. again, almost apologetically, said “We can try some other things, but I feel at this point…”
In my exhausted state, I can still recall the relief that rushed over me as she presented this new option. I could have my baby in my arms in a matter of several minutes. And that’s exactly what we did. I told the Dr. that I was ready to go to surgery, and didn’t need time to discuss it with my husband. We’d already decided that our birth plan was just to get baby out healthy.
The next few minutes were a blur as nurses rushed in to clean and prep me, my husband changed into scrubs, and I was wheeled out of the room and into the bright hall. I was on the surgical table, talking to the anesthesiologist, in no time. A nurse was walking me through what was happening behind the curtain that divided my midsection and my head.
“You’re going to feel a rush of cold from the general anesthesia.”
Then my husband was there, sitting near my head, holding my free hand.
“Now you’re going to feel pressure, but there should be no pain.”
“Now you’re going to feel pulling. The baby is almost out.”
And boy was she right. The amount of pulling and pressure was like none I could have imagined, but there was no pain. There was a buzz of excitement, and the Dr. announced, “Happy Birthday Baby Girl.”
We had a baby. After 32 hours of labor and 2 hours of active pushing, we had a baby. I could see her being handed to a nurse that cleaned her, and presented her to us. I was in love, right there and then. My husbands eyes welled above his mask, and I knew he loved her as much as I did in that moment.
A nurse handed my husband our beautiful baby, looking so small in his hands. Another nurse spoke to me, saying “they are going to stitch you up now, and then you’ll head over to recovery.”
After such a long day and night, I fell asleep, right there on the table, only to wake an hour later in the recovery room. Husband and baby by my side.
“You can feel sad for the things you missed out on…”
Though this was our first experience on a birthing floor, it was easy to spot the differences that Covid had made. We were assigned one nurse for the entirety of each shift, we were not allowed to leave our room unless cleared by a nurse. If I wanted to walk, I’d need to wait for all other patients to be out of the halls. Meals were delivered to our door, and could only be brought in with 6 ft of distancing. They even encouraged us to shorten our stay if we were feeling up to it. We were sent home with precautions of staying home for the first two weeks at least. Limiting visitor, and being extremely hygienic as we touched the baby.
I have come to know many Pandemic Mama’s that have delivered as all of this started, through where we are now. Some that have become pregnant during, and a few that have experienced loss during these already challenging times. You are not alone, even when you feel the incredible sense of isolation. It’s ok to feel like you lost part or all of the traditional experiences that we often anticipate with a pregnancy and birth. You can feel sad for the things you missed out on, and the ever changing guidelines that you were forced to adapt to. As a Pandemic Mama, you are stronger that you ever knew you could be.